


Good Luck

by Crush_Me_Please



Series: Paradise Motel Week [3]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Angst, Comics Era, Crying, Grief/Mourning, M/M, One Shot, The Fabulous Killjoys (Danger Days) Are Not MCR, boy oh boy, how to tag.mp4, paradise motel week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26512243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crush_Me_Please/pseuds/Crush_Me_Please
Summary: Cherri puts another mask in the mailbox.Day 3 of Paradise Motel WeekComics Era
Relationships: Agent Cherri Cola/Kobra Kid (Danger Days), Past Agent Cherri Cola/Kobra Kid (Danger Days)
Series: Paradise Motel Week [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1925176
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Good Luck

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if I'm that good at writing angst, but figured I'd try anyways !!

The sun was just starting to set, making the sand downright sparkle from the light. The sun was bright, just beginning to sink below the dunes of the sand, giving everything the light could touch an orange-y tint. 

Cherri Cola’s car rolled down Route Guano, every once in a while hitting a pot-hole, causing the things on his dashboard to shift around slightly. He kept his eyes on the road, trying not to think about where he was going. He mindlessly spun his dog tags around his fingers. A sign signalled that he was now entering Zone 6, the BL/Ind logo being spray painted over and replaced with some ‘Joy’s name.

He let out a soft sigh, glancing to the seat on his right. The mask was exactly where he left it. The red and black on it had started to fade, either from age or weathering, but it was as recognizable as ever. Kobra’s mask. Cherri quickly glanced away from it. He needed to keep his eyes on the road, even if he knew he wouldn’t run into anyone. 

The Killjoy pulled over next to the mailbox, chunks of glass surrounding and travelling up its legs to the bombs that had dropped there centuries ago. The clear crystals gave it a heavenly appearance, reflecting the remaining bit of sunlight perfectly. He gently picked up the faded mask and slammed the car door shut. Cherri shivered slightly at the increasingly cooling desert air and began to creep towards the mailbox. 

The Killjoy glanced down at the mask in his hands, carefully running a finger over the fabric. His lip quivered as he stared at it. He could feel his stomach drop. 

Thousands of memories filled his head. The way he would try to hide his smile when he was flustered, the first time he took his sunglasses off around Cherri, how he would rant for hours about the things that bothered him, everything.

His eyes started to burn as tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to spill down his cheeks. Cherri desperately tried to blink them away, but it just caused them to start running down his face. 

“Fuck,” was all he could choke out. He covered his mouth, giving into the tears and starting to sob. He pressed the mask to his chest, curling over on himself. It was a bittersweet goodbye, really. On one hand, this was him sending Kobra off to the afterlife, to be with the Witch. On the other hand, Cherri knew, even if he didn’t want to admit it, that Kobra needed to leave. 

Sobs continued to rack through his body, causing him to lean against the mailbox just to support himself. The only thing he could think about was Kobra. Why the fuck did they have go? Why the fuck did he let them go? His tears continued to fall, wetting the mask. The wet spots turned a darker shade of red.

Cherri tried to wipe the tears off, but they had already soaked deep into the fabric by then. The sun had finally finished its descent behind the hills, the only light was coming from Cherri’s headlights. He had stopped sobbing, but the tears hadn’t, still running down his face and onto the sand and glass.

He racked his brain, trying to think of something to say. Some final thing that Kobra might take into the afterlife with him.

“I’m sorry,” was what he landed on. Sorry for a lot of things, he supposed. Sorry for not going with them. Sorry for not believing they could do it. Sorry for not making his last words to Kobra more meaningful. Just, sorry.

He silently slipped the mask into the mailbox, turned on his heel, and didn’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed !! Comments and critique are always appreicated !!


End file.
